


Caught in the Crossfire

by elaine



Category: Starsky & Hutch
Genre: Amnesia, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-31
Updated: 2014-05-31
Packaged: 2018-01-27 20:32:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1721675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elaine/pseuds/elaine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Starsky is lost when a stakeout goes disastrously wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Caught in the Crossfire

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this quite a few years ago and never posted it anywhere but my own site. So here it is.

They'd been sitting in silence for close on half an hour; which was probably some kind of a record, Hutch thought. It wasn't an uncomfortable silence, because when you'd been partnered with someone as long as he'd been partnered with Starsky, and sat on as many stakeouts together as they had, you learned to get comfortable with silences. It was just that they rarely ran out of topics of conversation, both of them having more than their fair share of opinions on most things.

"You know, when you think about it…" he hesitated when Starsky released a huge sigh.

"There you go with the thinking again." Starsky turned his head grinned affectionately at him. "That's goin' to get you in to trouble some day. All that thinking."

Hutch waved it off. "…when you think about it, we've spent an awful lot of time just sitting in your car, or mine, together. Just waiting for something to happen. How much time would you say, Starsk? Hundreds of hours?"

"Thousands. Millions maybe." Starsky yawned and scrubbed at his eyes. "You'd think it would be enough time that you'd know when I was trying to get some shuteye."

"What makes you think I didn't?" Hutch easily ducked a half-hearted punch. "But seriously, how many hours?" He frowned, calculating. "Say two hours a day on average."

"Sometimes longer."

"Yes, but sometimes less, so on average… okay, three hours a day?" He waited for Starsky's resigned agreement. "That's five days a week."

Starsky straitened from his comfortable slouch. "Yeah, but sometimes we work six, seven days, if it's a difficult case."

"Well, if you average it out, maybe five and a half days a week." He ignored Starsky's grumbled 'more like six' as he concentrated on doing the math. "That's three hours a day, five point five days a week, fifty weeks a year, allowing for leave, and we've been partners for…"

"Long enough to spend a lot of hours together. An awful lot of hours."

There was a significant emphasis on the word 'awful', and Hutch glared at his partner. "Well, if it's so awful being my partner you could always ask for a transfer."

"Why should I transfer?" Starsky jabbed an accusatory finger at him. "You transfer."

There was nothing like a good argument to get the adrenalin going. Hutch launched into this one gleefully. "I'm not the one with a problem. Why should I transfer?"

"Why not? You think you're better than me." Starsky glowered at Hutch, obviously well prepared to change tack when his original argument lacked conviction. "Maybe you could get yourself a partner who's good enough for you."

"Now that's just…" Hutch pretended to reconsider. "You know, you're right. Maybe if I get a new partner, he'd appreciate good music. We could go to the opera together. Or the ballet."

Starsky stared at him in offended silence.

"He might even know what decent food tastes like." Hutch warmed to his theme. "I'll bet my new partner wouldn't eat leftover pizza for breakfast, like you do."

"There's nothing wrong with leftover pizza for breakfast." Starsky's voice had taken on a distinctly sulky tone. "Better than that seaweed you drink. Tastes like week old dead fish."

Hutch favoured him with a superior smile. "That just proves I'm right and you're wrong. I think I will request a new partner. I'll do it first thing in the morning."

"You do that. But I'll bet you five Dobey won't be able to find anyone willing to partner you." Starsky poked him in the arm with a fingertip. "They'd have to find someone from out of town to take you on. And then only if he's been in town less than a week!"

"Want to make that ten?" Hutch poked back. "They'll be lining up for the privilege, because, unlike you, Detective Sergeant David Starsky, I am a man of culture, and learning."

"You, Detective Sergeant Ken Hutchinson, are a flake. Good luck with your new partner, if you can find one." Starsky yawned suddenly, for real this time, and dropped the pose of offended dignity. "I'm gonna get some fresh air."

"Don't be too long. If Sal's right our man should be here in fifteen minutes."

"Just wanna stretch my legs a bit. Five minutes, okay?" Starsky glanced at his watch. "I'll be back on plenty of time for the show." He slipped out the door and closed it quietly. 

Hutch watched as his partner edged between a couple of stacks of crates and disappeared into the shadows. The car was parked where they could see most of the pier without being seen by anyone coming from either sea or land. Unfortunately, to achieve this they'd had to arrive far earlier than they would otherwise have needed to, or risk being seen by the people they were here to watch.

There'd been stirrings on the street for a while now, rumours of a squabble between a couple of Families that was building to the point of all out war. The latest word had been that the Old Man, Luigi Gianinni, was bringing in a hit man to take out his much younger rival, Trent Benedetti. If that happened, Hutch well knew, the streets would run red with blood, and not only with the blood of Mob members.

The good news was that Tony Scarpetti, rumoured to be the hit man in question, had an outstanding warrant issued against him for the death of half a dozen black gang members ten years ago. If it was Scarpetti arriving tonight, then they had a good chance of nipping this war in the bud. At least until Papa Luigi found himself another hit man.

Starsky seemed to be taking a long time. Hutch glanced at his watch, but it was only forty seconds over the five minutes Starsky had promised. He peered into the shadows, knowing that he probably wouldn't see Starsky until his partner reappeared inside the area where they were parked, but trying anyway. What he saw instead was a black sedan, lights out, creeping almost silently down the left-hand side of the pier.

Hutch swore. The welcoming committee was early, and chances were that Starsky wouldn't risk trying to reach him. "Be careful, Starsk." He breathed the words softly and slid his handgun out of its holster ready for action.

The next ten minutes seemed to take a lifetime to pass. With his window wound down, Hutch could hear the gentle slap of water against the pier, but little else; until the quiet purr of a distant powerboat signalled the arrival of Scarpetti.

"This is Zebra three. The guests are arriving. Over." 

Hutch had taken the precaution of turning the radio volume down as low as it could go, but it still sounded far too loud. "Copy Zebra three. Standing by."

He eased himself out of the car, leaving the door slightly ajar and moved towards the crates that blocked it from view. "Starsky, you'd better be in a good position to back me up buddy. Or you could be the one looking for a new partner."

The first few minutes were crucial in this operation. Their back up wouldn't reach them in time if they didn't get the drop on Gianinni's men right from the start. Knowing this, Hutch's eyes were searching the area on the opposite side of the warehouse from the black sedan. If he were Starsky that's where he'd have been. He didn't see anyone, but he hadn't really expected to.

As the sound of the powerboat grew louder, then dropped to a throaty purr as the engine was throttled back, Hutch slipped between the crates and waited, as close to the pier's steps as he dared get. The sedan's doors opened and closed quietly and four men walked cautiously towards the steps. By their stance, Hutch could tell they were nervous – shoulders tense, heads turning at every other step to survey the dark stacks of crates around them.

The boat was close enough now that, even at half throttle, the engine sounded incredibly loud. When it stopped, the silence was almost overpowering. The muted sound of men's voices drifted up to the welcoming committee and its hidden observers, then their footsteps, ascending the stairs with deliberate slowness. The tide was still dropping and the wooden slats would be slippery. It felt like an eternity was passing. Hutch wiped his hand on his jeans and then tightened his grip around his weapon again. He wished desperately that he could see Starsky, but even now there was no sign of him.

"Tony! Welcome." One of the men stepped forward to embrace the newcomer almost before he'd put foot on the actual pier. It was a perfunctory greeting. After a moment they stepped aside to allow two others from the boat to join them.

It was time to make their move. Hutch straightened from his crouch, trusting Starsky to be where he needed to be. He was opening his mouth to announce their presence, and their intent to arrest the lot of them, when six figures stepped out of the darkness and spread out to partially surround the group in front of him.

Nobody on the pier had any doubt about who these new players might be. As the first shots rang out, Hutch dived for the car, and the radio. "This is Zebra three. Request immediate back up. Immediate, do you copy?"

"We copy Zebra three." The dispatcher's voice was as dispassionate as always, but Hutch could already hear the sirens approaching as he turned back towards the fighting.

There was no sign of Starsky, though that was hardly surprising. The smoke from the guns swirled around the small space, now littered with bodies. He'd heard at least two splashes loud enough to indicate that people had dived, or fallen, over the edge of the pier.

"Police!" Hutch pitched his voice loud enough to be heard through the gunshots. "We have the pier cordoned off. You can't escape. Put down your weapons."

There was no answering call from Starsky. He would have said something to indicate to Hutch that he was there, if he'd been able to. That knowledge was eating at Hutch as he followed his training, joining with the newly arrived officers to subdue the few remaining men before tearing himself away to search for his partner.

*

It was going to be a beautiful day. Hutch watched the sun come up from his perch on the end on the pier. There was no sign of Starsky. Not his body. Not his gun, or his wallet, or his clothing. Nothing.

"Go home, Hutchinson. You don't want to be here when the dredging starts." Dobey gave him a sympathetic look, but one that said very clearly he was prepared to make that an order if necessary.

"But Cap'n…"

"You can't do anything now. None of the survivors remembers seeing him, and there's at least two men missing by your count. He probably went over the edge too." Dobey's hand came down heavily on Hutch's shoulder, squeezed it for a second. "I'll call you if we find anything."

He went home. Not to his own place, but to Starsky's. It was almost as much his home as his own apartment; he spent roughly the same amount of time there. Somehow it seemed impossible that he should walk in and not find Starsky there, pizza reheating in the oven, coffee bubbling evilly in the pot on the range, overpowering even the pizza with its noxious odour.

If he waited long enough, surely Starsky would come home.

*

"Hutchinson, what are you doing here?" If anything, Dobey's voice was even rougher than it had been three days ago on the pier. He waved Hutch ahead of him into his office.

"Captain, we've got to do something. Starsky…" Hutch choked on his friend's name. He knew that the likelihood was that Starsky was dead, but he couldn't quite believe, not deep down in his gut where he really knew things. So, maybe Starsky was still alive; and if he was then there was still something Hutch could do to find him.

"He's gone, Hutch. You need to take some time off and adjust to that." Dobey went behind his desk, picked up a cardboard box and put it on his desk. Starsky's jacket was inside. "It was found on the beach this morning. His wallet's in the pocket. Chances are we'll never find the body."

"What if he's not dead, Cap'n?" Hutch leaned over the desk, almost afraid to give voice to the unreasonable hope that he nurtured in the depths of his soul. "You said yourself that only one body was recovered. And the boat was gone. What if…" he raised his voice to drown out Dobey's objections, "…what if they took him? He might be at Gianinni's house right now."

"And do you have any proof of this? Any evidence?" Dobey's voice was weary.

"Well, no, but…"

"Then how do you suggest we get a search warrant, Hutchinson?"

Hutch turned away from the desk and began to pace. He knew how slim the chances were that Starsky was still alive, and how unlikely he was to get Dobey's help in finding out. "We can't. I know that. But if I could get inside…"

"Into Papa Luigi's stronghold? Nobody's ever done that." Dobey's stubborn expression held out little hope.

"But he's never lost six men before. Not like this." Hutch dropped into a chair and stared at Dobey, daring him to look away. "He'll need reinforcements, fast, if he's going to stay ahead of Benedetti. He'll have to hire locally. If I can get inside…"

"And if Starsky's alive, and there."

He ignored the dubious tone. "Even if he isn't, I might learn something that can help us. There's a major war brewing between Benedetti and Gianinni. Maybe we can stop it."

"And that is why I need every man I can get." Dobey thumped the desk for emphasis. Hutch recognised it as his last defence in an argument he didn't want to lose.

"Cap'n you've already told me I have to take time off."

Dobey scowled, but he was on the back foot now and they both knew it. "Which does not mean going on an undercover assignment that's likely to get you killed."

"It will get me killed if I don't have any back up." Surprising how little that prospect bothered him any more. That wasn't something he intended to share with Dobey, though. "All I'm asking for is a contact I can call. Just to check in, find out what's happening on the outside."

"Here." Dobey scribbled something on a scrap of paper. "It's my personal number. I'll give you three days, then I want you out of there."

"Thanks. I won't forget this." Hutch memorised the number and passed it back.

Dobey grunted. "I won't let you. You owe me."

Hutch grinned, already halfway to the door. Huggy would know who was hiring for Gianinni…

*

Twenty-four hours later Hutch was inside the Gianinni compound, where no undercover cop had ever been before. 

"This here's the staff quarters. You'll have a room in here." His guide, Lazaro Girardi nodded towards a low Spanish style building to his left. "The family live in the main house on the other side of those shrubs. There's tennis courts and a swimming pool behind it. Staff can use them in the mornings. There's an exercise room too."

"Nice. They got a hospital too?" Hutch grinned easily at the smaller man. "If they had a church and a supermarket this place would be its own city."

Girardi scowled at him. "Don't get smart Mason. It's pretty tense here right now. Nobody's gonna appreciate a joker."

"Oh, right. That's why you're hiring. Your guys got hit pretty bad I heard." Hutch assumed an unconvincing air of sympathy. "Looks like I picked the right time to try the big city, huh?

A painfully firm grip on his arm stopped Hutch in his tracks. "They buried one of the Family today. A nephew. He was one of Papa Luigi's favourites, so just watch your step. Nobody's laughing here."

"Sure." He pried Girardi's hand loose. "I'll be cool as ice. Maybe you better tell me what happened."

"Not your business." Girardi lengthened his stride, heading towards the main house. Mr Gianinni wants to meet you."

It turned out that Mr Gianinni was Bobby, Papa Luigi's oldest son, rather than the patriarch himself. Looking into hard brown eyes and a grim, drawn face, Hutch decided that was for the best. He'd heard plenty of stories about the old man's increasingly violent and unpredictable behaviour of late and was more than happy not to face him on the day of his favourite nephew's funeral.

"Kenneth Mason?" Gianinni looked him over with all the warmth of a meat inspector at a slaughter house. "You're new to Bay City."

"Yes, Sir. Just flew in less than a week ago." Hutch smiled nervously. "Got out of Joliet, and had a hankering for someplace warm."

"And you worked for whom, in Chicago?"

"Oh no." He laughed a little. "It was just my bad luck you see. I was in Chicago on this job…" He shrugged and spread his hands. "Ended up staying five years. But who I worked for, well that was, like, the Monteverdi's back in Detroit, you know? Only they ain't hiring any more on account of they got… well they had some troubles while I was inside, so I just came on down to California and here I am." He ended with a wide, guileless smile, having watched Gianinni's eyes glaze over slightly during his recital.

"Welcome." Bobby Gianinni waved him away. "Show Mr Mason to his room please, Lazaro."

*

Hutch spent the next few hours getting to know the other inhabitants of the compound who, like him, didn't rate a room in the main house. None of them had been present at the gunfight four days previously, though even if they had, it would have been unlikely that any of them would have recognised him. He'd spent most of the time searching for Starsky, leaving the other cops to deal with the survivors.

Reassured on that point, his next goal was to investigate the grounds and look for a way into the main house. If Starsky was a prisoner, he suspected that the main house would be where he was being held.

"Where do you think you're going?" Girardi's voice, coming from behind, stopped him in his tracks

Hutch turned to face him. "Thought I'd check out the swimming pool. It's through here, ain't it?" He started off in the direction of the pool, ignoring Girardi's scowl. He'd only got a few steps further when a fierce grip halted him again. He could just see the glimmer of water from the pool reflecting off a high brick wall.

"I told you staff can only use the pool in the morning."

"I wasn't planning on using it right now." Hutch turned an aggrieved face to his unwanted bodyguard. "I just wanted to check it out. Make sure I know where it is. This is a damn big place."

"It's over there." Girardi gestured in the direction of the pool.

"All right." He strode off, followed by an exasperated Girardi. "What about them tennis courts? Not that I can play tennis, but maybe I should take it up. What d'ya say?"

"You won't live long enough to learn the damn game if you don't fucking do as you're told." Girardi got ahead of Hutch and blocked the path at its narrowest point.

It was time to drop the harmless act. Hutch grabbed Girardi by the front of his shirt and pushed him back against a large and prickly looking plant. "Don't mess with me. I've been trying to be friendly, but if you wanna play rough, I can do that too." 

He ducked Girardi's first swing easily and shoved him back again. Then he followed up with a punch to the ribs and an uppercut to the chin. None of the punches was designed to really hurt, just to prove a point. He saw by the expression in Girardi's eyes that he'd succeeded.

"Now if you'll excuse me." He pushed past Girardi, elbowing him into the longsuffering plant once again.

The pool was empty, and Hutch wandered slowly along the paved area, assessing the back of the main house. There were three double doors opening from various rooms onto a patio, which led in turn to the pool. A small wooden building appeared to provide shelter and changing rooms for the swimmers. He guessed that the tennis courts were on the far side of the brick wall, but he had little interest in that area. 

He was just about to turn back onto the path which had brought him there when two men came out of the house, one leaning on the arm of the other, larger man. It took the space of a couple of heartbeats for Hutch to recognise his partner, bruised and pale, and dressed in a pair of pyjamas and a dark robe. As his companion settled Starsky into a deck chair, a young woman appeared with a glass and a small dish. Hutch stood half concealed by the tall shrubbery and watched as Starsky took what seemed to be medication and then relaxed back into the deck chair.

After a moment Hutch managed to tear himself away and head back to the staff quarters, trying to make sense of what he'd seen. It certainly didn't look like Starsky was a prisoner, so what the Hell was going on?

*

"He's alive, Captain, I've seen him." It was two am and Hutch was standing in a phone booth eight blocks away from the compound. There weren't a lot of phone booths in this area, as he'd discovered when he'd scouted the area yesterday. "But it doesn't look like he's a prisoner."

"If he's not a prisoner, what the Hell is he doin' there?" Dobey sounded more than usually irascible.

"I haven't been able to talk to him yet. It looks like he's been hurt, so it could be a while before I can get close to him without his keepers being around." Hutch sighed and rubbed his forehead. "Is there anything new on the Benedettis?"

"Both families are hiring every punk they can lay their hands on." Dobey sighed. "I can only give you a few days, Hutch. This situation's going to get a whole lot worse."

*

Hutch didn't see Starsky the next day, and when he hung around the patio the day after that the area was completely deserted. As he made his way dejectedly back to the staff quarters, Hutch rounded a curve in the path and came face to face with his missing partner. 

It was hard to tell who was more startled, but it was immediately apparent that Starsky had no idea who Hutch was. They each stepped back a pace and Hutch stammered an apology.

"Don't worry about it." Starsky cut into Hutch's spiel. "You're new here, right?"

"Yeah. I joined up a couple days ago." Hutch pulled himself together and held out his hand. "Ken Mason, Mr… uh…"

"Scarpetti. You can call me Tony." Starsky smiled as they shook hands.

Hutch blinked. "Oh, right. You came into town just a few days back. Wasn't there a fight or something?"

"Yeah." Starsky gestured to his temple, where faded bruises still showed. "Got a bang on the head, so I missed most of the fun."

"Oh." Hutch nodded sagely. "I knew a guy had that happen once. Guy called Dave Starsky. He was out for hours, couldn't remember a thing when he came round, not even his own name."

That earned him a hard stare. Then Starsky shrugged. "Some things are kinda hazy. They say I'll get over it, but I guess 's long as I know who I am, I'm doin' okay."

"It sure helps." Hutch smiled. "Tony, do you…" he stopped as a large man came up behind Starsky.

"Mr Scarpetti, Don Luigi wants to speak with you."

Starsky smiled again and clapped Hutch on the shoulder. "See ya round, Ken."

*

He was called to the main house after dinner; a fact which seemed to surprise Girardi. Hutch hurriedly shrugged into a jacket and tie and made his way across the garden. When he arrived, the party was already in full swing, with a number of beautifully dressed women mingling with the men. Starsky was there, moving restlessly from one group to another. 

Hutch was introduced to some of the family, including Bobby Gianinni's two daughters, Sophia and Carla, each of whom demanded a dance from him. He spent the next hour obliging them and talking to some of his employer's family members. Eventually, he felt a familiar touch on his arm.

"Wanna blow this joint?"

It was so much like the kind of thing Starsky might say that for a moment Hutch couldn't speak. Then he smiled and nodded and followed Starsky out onto the patio.

"I hate these things. Always get out as quickly as I can." Starsky leaned on the patio railing and stared down into the pool. "How about you?"

Hutch positioned himself alongside Starsky and turned his head to observe the pale profile. There was a distinct air of edginess about his partner. "I don't much like being in a room full of strangers. But I guess you know most of them, huh?"

"Sure." Starsky glanced at him, briefly, then back to the pool. "Except I haven't seen them in ten years." 

There was a long pause, during which neither man spoke. "And, there's these… gaps." Starsky laughed uneasily. "Some of them… I know their faces, or I know their names, things they've done… but it's like… something's missing up here." He gestured at his head. "I'm not even sure I'd recognise my own mother if she stood in front of me."

"It'll come back to you." Hutch pitched his voice low, even though there was nobody close. "It takes time to get over that kind of thing."

"That friend of yours. He got it back? His memory?"

"Starsky?" Hutch watched his friend's face, but it betrayed no recognition of the name. "Sure."

It didn't ring entirely true, and Starsky looked at him for a long moment, frowning. "I don't know why I'm asking you. I only met you this afternoon."

It was an unstated plea for reassurance, startling, when Hutch thought about it. Starsky had no reason to trust him. "Sometimes you just meet someone and it's like you've always known them. You know what I mean?" Their eyes locked. It had been like that the first time they'd met.

One corner of Starsky's mouth lifted slightly. "Yeah."

*

Covering eight blocks might not seem much of a stretch at four in the afternoon, but when it came to making a return trip in the early hours of the morning without arousing the suspicion of patrolling security guards, the distance seemed more than just twice as far. Hutch made it back to the compound's wall at a little after three am and paused to catch his breath before slipping around a tree shrouded corner and climbing over the wall at a place where the roughened surface made it possible to climb.

He lay along the top of the wall checking for activity inside before dropping quietly back to ground level. Now all he needed to do was slip back into the staff quarters and get some much needed sleep. Tomorrow… actually, today… he'd have to take the chance of telling Starsky who he was. Dobey had argued vehemently against it, but even he had had no option, in the end, but to agree. There was no way to get Starsky out of the compound without his willing cooperation and, as long as he believed himself to be Tony Scarpetti, he wouldn't cooperate.

The sound of voices in the distance forced Hutch to take refuge behind a large bush for a few minutes, but the voices came no closer. Straightening with a grimace for his dirt-smeared jeans and his aching back, Hutch figured that he ought to be home free now. It was only a hundred yards or so to his quarters. He was wrong.

"What's the matter? Can't sleep?" Starsky was sitting inconspicuously on a low bench, wearing pyjamas and a robe.

"No." Hutch tried to gather his wits and slow his pounding heart. "I mean… I was feeling kinda restless. Thought I'd take a stroll."

"Must have been quite a stroll, to take over an hour." Starsky rose to his feet and came to stand directly in front of Hutch. "I saw you from my room. Thought I'd join you, but when I got down here there was no sign of you. Until now. That makes me wonder just who the Hell you really are." Starsky's voice and face seemed completely calm, but his eyes were searching Hutch's face and Hutch could feel the tension radiating from his body. 

"Maybe you should be asking yourself the same thing." He kept his voice gentle and watched as Starsky blinked. "Do you really believe you're a part of this?" Hutch lifted his arm to indicate the main house, almost completely in darkness at this hour.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

It was now or never. If he couldn't convince Starsky of his real identity now, Hutch suspected that he wouldn't get a second chance. "You know what Tony Scarpetti is. A hit man, a contract killer for the Mob. Do you really believe that's who you are?" The confusion in Starsky's face was painful to see. Hutch ached to just reach out and touch him, the way he would have if Starsky had any idea of who he was. "Use your instincts, your feelings. Are you the kind of man who could kill another in cold blood, for money? I don't believe you are."

"What is this? Star Wars?" Starsky shook his head slowly. "If I'm not Tony Scarpetti, then who am I? Everybody here knows me." 

"You said yourself you haven't seen these people in ten years." Hutch met Starsky's eyes and silently dared him to look away. "Let me describe someone to you. Male, Caucasian, about thirty-five years old. Stands about five feet ten. Dark hair, blue eyes. He's got a mole on his left cheek. It's a pretty good description of Tony Scarpetti, don't you think?"

"Yeah. And your point is?" 

"It's not Tony Scarpetti I'm describing. It's Dave Starsky." Hutch took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Starsky didn't way a word. "What do you remember, really remember, about who you are? You think you're Tony Scarpetti because everyone told you that's who you are, but what do you know about yourself? What do your instincts tell you?"

"My instincts. You want me to trust my instincts?" Starsky moved closer, his expression unreadable. "You might not like my instincts." 

It was such an unexpected response that Hutch was unsure how to deal with it. Starsky took another step forward and reached up to take Hutch's face between his hands. Their lips touched, lightly at first, then more firmly. Starsky's tongue probed at Hutch's lips imperiously, parting them, entering his mouth, possessing… When Starsky drew back Hutch simply stared at him in shock, unable to find his voice for a moment. Then it came back to him with a rush.

"What was that for?" He couldn't keep the indignation out of his voice and Starsky grinned. For the space of a heartbeat, Hutch really thought that Starsky would say that everything that had happened in the last few days had been an elaborate hoax, but he didn't. Instead Starsky kissed him again, and this time Hutch found himself responding.

More than just responding – as Starsky drew back for the second time, Hutch followed him, refusing to break the fragile connection. His tongue demanded entry in turn, sliding against Starsky's, exploring his mouth with a thoroughness that left them both a little breathless.

"We can't do this here." Starsky drew back, and as if to underscore his point, they heard voices in the direction of the staff quarters. "Come on."

Numbly, Hutch followed Starsky to the main house. They entered by a side door that Starsky had obviously left ajar; and from there Hutch retained only the vaguest memory of their route. Until they fetched up outside a door, one no different from any of the other doors in the corridor, but which he knew must lead to Starsky's room. His uncertainty was no match for the reckless hunger that swept through his body, even though it shocked him to realise how willing he was to risk his life, even his friendship with Starsky, to assuage the ache he felt right now.

The door opened silently and they slipped into the dimly lit room. The only source of light came from the half-open bathroom door.

Starsky smiled self-consciously. "Sometimes I wake up in the night and I get disoriented if I can't see where I am."

Hutch didn't bother to answer. He pulled Starsky into his arms and kissed him hungrily. If felt so good to hold that sturdy body in his arms, to smell the scent of his friend, underlying the fading tang of cologne and soap. These things were so very familiar to him. Reassuring in the same way that the faint whiff of sexual arousal was disturbing.

A few minutes of this had them both breathing hard. It seemed inconceivable now that he'd never seen this potential between them; they'd been so close, inseparable, for so long. Life without Starsky in it was unimaginable, yet it had never before occurred to Hutch to take this step that now appeared to be so inevitable. He clung to his friend and made not the slightest effort to prevent him when Starsky's hands moved over his chest and began to unbutton his shirt.

The tantalising brush of fingers against his skin startled Hutch out of his abstraction and he moaned softly into Starsky's mouth. Their lips parted briefly as Starsky chuckled, his breath whispering an intimate caress across Hutch's cheek. As his shirt and jacket were peeled away from his body, Hutch attacked the sash at Starsky's waist. Once the robe was swinging loose, he could see that the pyjama jacket beneath was also open. It took only a moment to slide them both off Starsky's shoulders and pull him back into his arms.

It felt heavenly – the skin so smooth under his fingertips, the tickle of short hair against his chest – and Starsky's hands stroking his back as they kissed again. He was lost, drowning in delicious sensation and almost oblivious to his growing arousal. This was what he'd always wanted, and had never dared to acknowledge, even to himself.

"Ken…" Starsky's voice, husky and breathless, roused him from his thoughts. Guided by his partner, Hutch stumbled blindly towards the king-sized bed in the centre of the room.

They fell across it, and Hutch retained just enough commonsense to toe off his sneakers before scrambling back into the middle. Starsky crawled after him grinning.

"Mmmn…" Starsky trailed kisses over his throat and chest as his hands continued their work of undressing Hutch. "You feel good."

"Oh God." Hutch laughed helplessly. "So do you." He drew the curly head closer to his chest and shuddered as Starsky's unnaturally agile tongue swept across his nipple. His hips arched up off the bed and Starsky took immediate advantage, dragging his pants and boxers down together. A quick twist and wriggle had him stripped of everything, even his socks, it seemed.

They stared at each other for a moment, sharing their satisfaction. Then Starsky cocked his head impatiently. "Well?" 

"Oh! Sorry." He pulled Starsky on top of him and shoved the pyjama bottoms downwards so that their cocks rubbed together between their bodies. The sweet friction almost took his breath away. "God! Oh God… that feels so…"

"Oh yeah…" Starsky mumbled the words against Hutch's throat. "Don't stop that."

Hutch had absolutely no intention of stopping. His hips pushed up against Starsky's as though his body knew better than he did what needed to be done, and his thighs parted. After a moment Starsky's knee slipped between them so that their bodies were pressed even closer than before. His hands, on Starsky's ass, set the rhythm of Starsky's movements. They moved together as if they had only a single thought between them.

"Oh God, oh God, I'm gonna…" Starsky never finished what he was going to say – he didn't need to, the burst of sticky heat between them was eloquent enough.

There was a fleeting moment when the slipperiness of Starsky's come allowed Hutch's cock to glide with delirious ease against the body above his, then the thrumming in his belly reached a crescendo, propelling him into a brief, delicious oblivion.

*

He felt Starsky leave him, and it was like a chill across his body, where only a moment before he'd been floating in warmth and comfort. Hutch pried his eyes open just in time to see Starsky disappear into the bathroom. He emerged again, almost immediately, with a washcloth and towel in his hands.

"Here." He tossed them onto Hutch's chest and perched on the edge of the bed, watching, as Hutch wiped himself down and then dropped them on the floor. "Move over."

They settled, somewhat awkwardly, side by side. Starsky didn't seem inclined to start their previous discussion over again, and Hutch was almost too exhausted to care whether Starsky believed him or not. Still, it felt strangely uncomfortable.

"Maybe I should go." Hutch glanced over at Starsky, uncertain of his welcome, now that the excitement had passed.

The dark head stirred in a lazy negative "Nah. It'll be quiet for a few hours yet. Get some sleep."

Hutch sighed and turned on his side. In spite of his discomfort with the situation, he must have fallen asleep almost immediately.

*

Long practice had made it possible for Hutch to wake at whatever time he set himself, if there was a good enough reason. This surely counted, because only two hours later he was awake again. A fleeting disorientation resolved itself into the realisation that Starsky was lying at his back, almost wrapped around him. It was a comforting way to wake up, but Hutch knew he'd have to move, and soon. He slipped out from under Starsky's encompassing embrace and turned to look at his sleeping partner.

The dark lashes stirred and after a moment of blinking and confusion, Starsky smiled at him. Not for the first time, Hutch had the impression that Starsky knew who he was, but it was fleeting.

"Hey." This time Hutch gave into the urge to touch Starsky's cheek. "I should go soon."

"Yeah." It seemed as though Starsky was no more pleased by the prospect than Hutch. "We still got a little time."

They moved closer, touching, exploring in a more leisurely way than they'd been capable of the last time. Their bodies seemed almost to drift with some kind of magnetic attraction as their hands and mouths explored the landscape of their desires. They took turns, first Hutch, then Starsky, at lying atop the other, moving in lazy harmony with the beating of their hearts.

Things were just starting to become serious, their movements more purposeful than random, when Starsky moaned into Hutch's shoulder and muttered something almost inaudibly.

"Huh?" Hutch struggled to focus his dazed mind.

Starsky slid down a little between his legs, rubbing against him. "…shouldn't be so different from a woman…"

"What… Starsk…" The name, spoken aloud, distracted Hutch long enough that Starsky was able to escape the bed and disappear into the bathroom. When he returned, the sight of him, naked and aroused, only compounded Hutch's confusion. Then he saw what Starsky was holding in his hand.

"You okay with this?" Starsky put the bottle of baby oil on the nightstand beside the bed.

Hutch nodded, though the ability to speak had abandoned him. He scooted over to allow Starsky back into the bed, but Starsky simply pulled back the covers and knelt, straddling Hutch's thighs. They stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity before Hutch reached for the baby oil. He sat up and poured a generous amount into the palm of his hand. Better too much than too little, as far as he was concerned.

He'd seen Starsky naked often enough, in the locker room at the station, or the gym, even seen him partially aroused on occasion – it happened to everyone now and then. None of that prepared him for how it felt to take another man's cock in his hand, to stroke it and squeeze it with the kind of attention that he'd only ever given to himself. A part of him was terrified, but that part was completely overpowered by a flood of desire, mingled with tenderness and sheer excitement. It was the most shocking thing he'd done in his life, and he never considered for a moment the possibility that he could renege.

It was sometime before Hutch thought to look up from his task. When he did, Starsky smiled, almost tenderly, and touched his cheek with a feather light brush of his fingertips. Time stopped for an instant and then they were leaning into each other, kissing with a passion that grew deeper, more intense, by the second. They were still kissing as Starsky eased him down and slid between his parted thighs.

The first blunt pressure seemed frustratingly ineffective. Their bodies shifted, seeking a position that would satisfy their need, finding none. Hutch moaned in despair. Then the pieces simply fell into place. Pressure, not blunt now, but painfully sharp, tore at his opening making him cry out. Starsky flinched, then, obedient to Hutch's hands rather than his voice, pierced the ring of muscle with a desperate thrust.

Only the head of Starsky's cock was inside him. Hutch could feel the sphincter relaxing around the slightly narrower shaft, and the fullness just above it. The rest of him was empty, so very empty… he stirred restlessly and gasped as twinges of pain shot through him, but they were much less intense than the first. Poised over his body, Starsky gasped too, and sweat dripped off his forehead onto Hutch's chest.

"It's okay…" Hutch patted his arm distractedly, "…okay."

"You sure?" But he began moving immediately. "You're so tight… oh God... so good…"

He waited out the random flashes of pain, each one weaker, more diffuse than the last, until Starsky was completely inside him. They paused then, the smile that passed between them an acknowledgment of what they'd achieved so far. Starsky lowered himself until they were able to kiss again, to relax for a moment in Hutch's arms, but already he was trembling. The tremors spread, infecting Hutch with the need to move, to thrust and plunge, to do anything to find release.

Starsky shifted in his arms again, and touched something inside Hutch that was so intense he couldn't tell if it were pleasure or pain. He bit back a cry, then gasped as it happened again, a wild incandescence of sensation that flashed though his body and left him weak. The third time Hutch knew. He sobbed aloud and lifted his legs, wrapping them around Starsky's hips. In response Starsky thrust deeper, harder, driving Hutch to the brink on every stroke, and just as Hutch thought he might actually die from this, he felt the first faint shudder of Starsky's climax ripple through the sturdy body. He abandoned himself to his body's needs with a sense of relief.

*

There wasn't much time left now. Hutch kept what he hoped was an unobtrusive watch on the digital alarm clock, as though it, rather than time, was his enemy. Neither of them had much energy for anything other than dazed caresses and kisses that were little more than butterfly brushes of lips against sweaty skin. Still, he knew that there were some things that needed to be said, and somehow he would have to find a way to say them.

"What?" Heavy lidded blue eyes smiled at him. "Don't you ever stop thinking?"

Hutch laughed softly. "You said something like that to me only a few days ago."

"You really expect me to believe that crazy story of yours?" Starsky still seemed remarkably relaxed about their situation. "Why should I believe you instead of everyone else? Why don't you give up whatever your scam is? Stay here with me. I'll make sure you're okay."

"I can't. It's too important." He stroked the side of Starsky's face. "You don't have any reason to trust me, so I'll give you one." Hutch took a deep breath, knowing that he was quite literally putting his life into the hands of someone who was not exactly the partner he'd known and trusted for so many years. "Dave Starsky…"

"Again?" There was a hint of impatience in Starsky's voice now. "What about him?"

"He's my best friend. My partner." Hutch couldn't help smiling at the flash of jealousy he saw in Starsky's eyes. "He's also a cop. A damn good one."

"You're a cop?" Starsky was suddenly very still, every muscle tense, his attention completely focused on Hutch.

"And so are you, Starsky. You must have realised what I was trying to tell you before." He watched as Starsky rolled onto his back and laid an arm over his eyes. "We were on a stakeout. We got separated." He could hear his voice getting louder, more urgent, and forced it down. "There was an ambush and when it was over, there was no sign of you. Everybody thought you were dead."

"So what are you doing here?" There was no hint in his voice to show whether Starsky believed him or not.

"I couldn't accept it. I got in here because I thought the Gianinnis might be holding you as a prisoner, or a hostage." He reached over and pulled Starsky's arm away, so he could look into his partner's eyes. "I'm Ken Hutchinson. You call me Hutch. Starsky, can't you remember anything? Not my name, my voice?"

The blue eyes showed not the slightest hint of recognition, but as they scanned his face, Hutch thought he saw something change. "All right. What do you want me to do?"

"Come with me. We have to get out of here." Hutch struggled to keep his voice calm. They weren't out of the woods yet, and he wasn't sure how convinced Starsky was. "You can't keep this up forever. Somebody's bound to realise you aren't Tony Scarpetti."

Starsky moved restlessly at this. He'd never actually admitted that he didn't know who he was, Hutch realised, though his willingness to consider Hutch's proposition spoke volumes. "Starsky, I've told you who I am. You can kill me just by telling the Gianinnis. You have to trust me on this."

"Okay." Starsky sighed. "I must be out of my head. So, what's the plan?"

"Meet me tonight, by the bench at two am. We'll get the Hell out of here." He stroked Starsky's arm lightly. "You've made the right decision, Starsk."

"Whatever." Starsky pulled him down for a long kiss. "You better go. There'll be people moving around soon."

*

He made it back to his room safely and collapsed on the bed thinking furiously. He ought to get backup for their escape, but that meant calling Dobey on one of the house phones, and that was a risk he didn't want to take. Huggy would be a better idea. Hutch grinned and allowed himself to drift into sleep, amused by the thought of Dobey's probable reaction to Hutch giving Huggy his private phone number.

Of course, he overslept and had to scramble to meet his first commitment of the day. While shaving, he stared blearily at his reflection in the mirror. Red-eyed and pale, he wasn't likely to inspire confidence in anyone, least of all himself. It was the beginning of one of the longest days of his life.

By mid day Hutch's temper was seriously frayed. Tiredness combined with nerves didn't help, but it was turning out to be the kind of day that would have tried the patience of a saint. Hutch took refuge from a host of trivial chores by heading for the swimming pool. A few furious laps helped calm him a little. It would have been even better if Starsky had shown up, but he didn't. In fact, Hutch didn't catch so much as a glimpse of him all day.

That was the most unsettling thing of all. What if Starsky changed his mind? Or maybe he'd slipped up somehow and the Gianinnis had realised that Starsky wasn't Scarpetti after all. Perhaps… but Hutch finally managed to rein in his overactive imagination. They had a plan. They'd stick to it, and if anything went wrong, they'd deal with it, just like they always did.

Evening finally came, and Hutch returned to his room with a sense of relief, skipping dinner in favour of catching up on his sleep. He dozed restlessly, not getting the recharge he needed but at least taking the edge off his exhaustion, and woke at one thirty.

It was easy enough to slip out of the staff quarters and into the garden. The biggest risk now was that they'd be seen by one of the guards who patrolled the extensive grounds at night. Still, Hutch had managed to elude them every night since he'd arrived here and there was no reason why he couldn't do it again tonight.

Starsky was waiting for him on the bench again. This time he was dressed for action in jeans and a blue sweater. Hutch hurried over to him, relief flooding his veins with heat. "Come on. Dobey should be waiting for us with backup."

"I don't think that's going to do you any good." The voice came from behind him, and Hutch turned slowly. "Just keep your hands where I can see them."

Hutch lifted his hands away from his sides. "Changed your mind, did you?" He didn't attempt to hide the hurt in his voice.

"Oh, don't blame your partner, Hutchinson." Bobby Gianinni strolled into view around a curve in the path with another bodyguard in tow. "One of our sources in the Police Department told us this afternoon that a body had washed ashore and been identified as Tony Scarpetti. Once we knew that, it wasn't hard to find out the identity of our interloper here."

"I see." Hutch glanced at Starsky, who shrugged minutely. Their eyes met in a brief, silent communion. "And of course you had to give me to them. Couldn't you keep your big mouth shut?"

"Hey, I didn't give them anything." Starsky flung the words at him. "You must have slipped up, smart ass. We both know I'm the brains of this outfit."

"Why you…" Hutch threw himself bodily at Starsky and shoved him into the goon standing beside him. Starsky punched wildly, missing him by a mile, and Hutch's connected squarely with the Mobster's jaw. He grabbed Starsky by the front of his sweater and twirled him around to push him at the other two men.

A quick kick to the head took care of the downed man, and Hutch turned to back up Starsky. He was struggling with the much larger man, but as Hutch moved towards them, managed to land a punch in his opponent's belly that doubled him over. Bobby Gianinni was hesitating on the edge of the scrimmage, his gun in hand, but obviously unwilling to risk hitting his own man. Hutch sent the gun flying into the shrubbery with a well aimed kick and grabbed Starsky.

"Come on. We'd better get out of here." He pushed Starsky ahead of him at first, then took the lead on a mad scramble through the bushes and trees as the garden erupted with life in response to Bobby's shouted commands.

It wasn't long before they reached the wall, but Hutch realised at once that he'd led them slightly astray. "This way." He caught as Starsky's shoulder and led him further to the east where there was a tree they could use to get them over the wall. It wasn't the one he'd planned on, but he'd picked out several backup options on his first night. "Here. Up here."

"You go first." Starsky pushed at him and Hutch started climbing. He knew all the footholds and it would be easier for Starsky to take his lead, even though his first instinct was to get his partner the Hell out of there. 

He was sitting astride the top of the wall when one of his former colleagues came into view. Grabbing Starsky's sweater, Hutch hauled him bodily up the last few inches and onto the wall just as the man started shooting. He heard Starsky's grunt and threw himself backwards, dragging them both off the wall. He hit the ground hard, with Starsky beside him, and lay there, too winded to move.

It still could have ended badly, but suddenly there were dark figures everywhere and someone was kneeling beside him. "Detective Hutchinson?"

"Yeah." Hutch gasped it out. "Starsky?"

"Hunh?" Starsky sounded groggy. "Wha's it?"

"You hit?" Hutch pushed himself onto his elbow and examined his partner worriedly. There was a dark patch on the left side of his sweater, just above waist level. He looked up at the uniformed officer. "Call an ambulance."

*

The wound proved to be very minor, no more than a graze. In spite of both Hutch's and Dobey's protests, and the doctor's advice, Starsky insisted on going straight home. Hutch followed his annoying partner, who was once again, thanks to a second bump on the head when they hit the ground, in full possession of his faculties, as he headed out the main doors of the hospital. It was going to be another beautiful day, if the sunrise was any indication.

Someone had driven Hutch's car here and left it for him in the parking lot. He led Starsky over to it, wondering, now that his partner had got his memory back, just how much he remembered of his stay in the Gianinni compound. There was no easy way to ask if Starsky remembered them making love, and the ride back to Starsky's townhouse was unusually silent as a result.

"Comin' in?" Starsky cocked an eyebrow at him, and Hutch nodded, still silent.

Inside, everything still looked as it had four days ago when he'd last seen it. Hutch wet his lips nervously. If he didn't ask now, he'd never have the nerve to do it later. "So, how much do you remember?"

"Well, I dunno…" Starsky smiled at him, with that special Starsky smile that always warmed Hutch whenever he saw it. "There's these gaps."

"Yeah?" Hutch swallowed his disappointment. Maybe it was better this way. Maybe they shouldn't try to push this precious friendship beyond what they'd both been comfortable with in the past.

"Yeah." Starsky sauntered over to him and just kept coming until Hutch was pressed up against the wall and could feel the warmth of Starsky's body in what little space remained between them. "I can remember exactly what it felt like to kiss you. An' I can remember how it felt bein' inside of you…" he sighed, "but for the life of me, I just can't remember what it was like to have you inside of me." He raised his eyebrows inquiringly.

A pulse had started beating deep inside his belly, and it was difficult to speak. Hutch swallowed. "I think…" he half choked, swallowed again, "I think I can help you with that."

Starsky smiled. "Good. I knew I could count on you. Partner."


End file.
